Restore My Virginity (And My Windshield)
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: What happened to the flying car, after it took off into the forest to lead the giant spiders away from Ron and Harry? Horror, violation, and salvation. The Ford Anglia is attacked and ravished by the Aragog's giant spider army, until the Whomping Willow comes to the rescue. (Oneshot, crack-pairing. Flying Car/Giant Spiders, Flying Car/Whomping Willow.)


**A/N: This story was inspired by the notorious crack-fic "First Encounter," by Lyris Malachi. That story pairs the Giant Squid with the Hogwarts Castle. If you find this story amusing, you should check that one out as well. **

**WARNING: This story contains jokes about non-consensual sex. If you are uncomfortable with that, please don't read it. I don't wish to offend or upset anyone. If it makes a difference, the "non-consensual sex" here does not involve anyone getting attacked in an alley or having a drink spiked; it's a very silly sort of "ravishing", like one might see in "Monty Python" or "Your Highness." **

**Side note: This story was previously posted under a troll account, with deliberately bad spelling and grammar. As with a previous story I had there, I decided this had potential to be a "real" spoof, and took it down for editing. I'm now posting it under my "real" account. **

**I do not own "Harry Potter."**

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The Forbidden Forest was black and silent, save for the sounds of chirping insects, hooting owls, and occasional werewolf howl. Beneath the usual sounds of the forest, a low, distant rumbling could be heard, steadily growing louder. The sound of the car's engine soon screamed over the snaps of breaking tree branches, as the turquoise Ford Anglia burst into the clearing.

Ford's mind was racing, as he zipped across the little field, and cut back into the trees. His pursuers, a stampede of tarantulas at least as big as himself, were gaining on him. In his rearview mirror, Ford could see some of them scurrying across the field after him. Others were in the tree tops, leaping from tree to tree. Ford had never been an arachnophobic, but now he could understand why his fraternal twin sister Chevy was so terrified of spiders.

_No, no time for fear! Only the mission! _Ford had a duty to his friends. He had to distract these spiders, lead them away from Ron and Harry. Ron and Harry, who had abruptly roused him from his nap in the parking lot to steer him into the sky, on an embarrassingly clumsy and long ride over the English countryside, as cars below snickered and gawked at him. And then crashed him into the Whomping Willow, where he'd taken a worse beating than his grandpa had the time Al Capone had driven him to a "business discussion" in Big Jim Colisimo's territory. And who had now abandoned him for dead in the forest, to be killed or worse by a hoard of giant spiders…_why_ did he care about those two shit-waffles, again?

Ford's train of thought was interrupted when he crashed hood-first into a thick oak tree. Before he had time to maneuver around and continue, a spider from the treetops leapt down and landed atop his back, seizing him around the middle with long, hairy legs. Ford sputtered and roared, his tires moving aimlessly as he struggled to escape the spider's grasp.

"Release meee!" Ford demanded desperately, in his low, raspy, Oxford accent.

"Aye, that we will laddie," The spider cackled, "Juuust as soon as we're doon havin' oor way with ye!"

"No!" Ford screamed, his tires digging into the mud. "I-I have money! Check my trunk, there's a suitcase full of five-hundred—"

"Ooo ah'll be checkin' yer trunk all right! But first I think we'll have us a bit o' foreplay…"

Ford continued to struggle as the spider moved his legs around his hood, caressing his windshield and doors. With his two back legs, the spider tickled Ford's trunk, gently brushing the lid up and down, as if flipping through the pages of a book. Ford fought the physical feelings of ecstasy that were burning up in his engine. He _didn't_ want this. He was pure. He was saving himself for true love. Not a horny gang of spiders in a dark forest.

"Just do it," Ford begged. "Get it over with!"

The spider rumbled, "Yer wish is my command, luv."

Ford gasped, as the spider shoved his back legs up his trunk, deep and penetrating, knocking suitcases and traveling bags aside as he wiggled and wormed around, exploring Ford's insides. Ford wasn't sure if his scream began as an orgasm and turned into a cry of horror and pain, or the other way around. The car rocked back and forth, as the spider fucked him. As the ravisher pounded him with his two back legs, and kept his grip with the next two, the front four began working around Ford's body. The legs in the front came crashing through is windshield, and the spider stuck his face inside, ticking Ford's steering wheel with his pinchers. The second two legs began drumming at his sides, shattering his windows and denting his doors.

The invasive pressure was released suddenly, and the spider tumbled off Ford, onto his back, breathing heavily, asleep. Why did spiders always fall asleep after sex? The bastard. Ford was about to scold him, when suddenly a _second_ spider jumped aboard, and the entire horrible, pleasurable process started all over. This spider didn't even get to finish before a third knocked him out of the way, and climbed up onto the car. Spider after spider had his or her way with Ford Anglia. Some went two at a time; one giving it to him in the trunk, while the other stuffed his or her legs into his front hood and demanded he swallow the web that shot out.

Was this how it would end for him? Some cars died in a blaze of glory, hosed down by bullets during gang fights or police raids. Others soared majestically off cliffs. Others still lived long, illustrious lives, before retiring to die peacefully at a junkshop. Not Ford Anglia. He would die as a spider toy, fucked to death in a dark forest where no one could hear him scream…

And suddenly, the moonlit forest was blocked by a shadow, as a thick wooden arm swung down and knocked the spider clean off of Ford's body. Hair and legs flew in different directions, and the trees around were splattered with black goo.

Ford gazed up weakly at his rescuer.

This man was no fat, hairy slob like the spiders pulling a train on him. The new figure was tall and handsome, with a strong build, and clean shaven (for it was autumn, and no leaves were necessary), and his name was Whomping Willow.

The Whomping Willow bellowed in a deep, black-guy voice that echoed throughout the forest, "_GET YOUR HAIRY, MOTHER FUCKIN' APENDAGES OFF HIM_!"

Ford watched in awe, as the Willow smacked and punched the spiders left and right, sending body parts flying in all directions. Within minutes, there was nothing left of the gang but a sea of hairy splats and piles of quivering, severed legs.

"my lord," The car rumbled, with tears of joy leaking from his engine, "Thank you! A thousand and twelve times over, thank you!"

"Nay," The tree waved a branch. "Thank me not. For 'tis my sacred duty to protect the innocents of these dark grounds from predatory vermin."

The Willow extended a branch, and helped Ford out of the mud.

"My dear wooden rescuer," Ford rumbled, "I would never have given myself to those spider scum willingly. But should a real man, a hero, of great virtue and a tall thick trunk, ever want a cruise into Pleasureville, well, I would be far more than game."

"Flattering," the tree bellowed, "But I'm afraid I must decline your offer. I am chaste, and will remain chaste. You see, I am a tree of the Lord. I have lived in solitude on these grounds for many centuries, studying the Holy Scriptures of the Franciscan monk. I was planted in this forest in 1568, during the enlightenment of the Renaissance era, and I live by the believes of my planters and caretakers. Nay, I will not fuck you car; but if you should want, I can educate you on the ways of Christ the Lord and the Holy Bible."

"The Bible," Ford Anglia repeated curiously. "I have heard my owners mention this book on some occasions. The Weasleys are Irish Catholic—hence their red hair, seven kids, and sympathy for minorities—but they're not _that_ Catholic. They never educated me in the ways of Christ the Lord. Is the Bible some kind of book?"

"It _is_ a book." The tree produced from his branches a copy of the Holy Bible, old and dusty, with a gold-trimmed cover dating back to Shakespeare's time. "It contains a long and twisted tale, that begins with a tree, a snake and a good-looking naked couple..."

"I like where this conversation is going," Ford said slyly.

The Willow chuckled. "Then let Bible Studies begin!"

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**FIN**

**A/N: The ending was not meant to mock Christianity or Catholics in a mean way. My mom's side of the family is Catholic. It was just meant to be ironic and funny. **


End file.
